


Three Months

by happytohelp1991



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, Pre-Relationship, Punisher being Punisher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 03:24:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6406696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happytohelp1991/pseuds/happytohelp1991
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karen misses a dead friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Months

**Author's Note:**

> This one came to me at 3 a.m. Finished it in the office next day.
> 
> Please leave a comment if you have anything to say.Thanks for reading!

Week 4:

"You're dead to me."

"I already am."

Even now, when I return from the newspaper office, I crane my neck to check the roofs.

He is never there. 

 

Week 6:

I know he hasn't left town.

Last week, three members of the Parlor mob were found on West 46th Street. All shot in the head. Multiple times.

The NYPD thinks it's organized crime. I know better. 

My editor is suspicious because I'm not digging into it. But I don't want to. It would only dig up a grave, after all.

I don't want to face him right now.

God, I sound like a whiny adolescent!

 

Week 8:

He climbs in through the window. How predictable.

Although, I DID remove the window bolts for him. The Punisher is not a man who uses doors, unless he's shooting one down.

I have too much to say. Too much to weep about. Too many things to share.

So, I say nothing. Just make a fresh pot while he sits on my sofa. I even pretend not to notice that his hands are red.

He seems grateful for it.

 

Week 10:

I was never good with sewing,in school.

But here I am, stitching him up. My hands are steady. Almost.

I don't even ask him how he got a machete wound on his left shoulder. Or how his ribs got bruised.

Sometimes, though, I try to guess. 

If I'm correct, he gives a smile.

If not.... Well, there are always bodies to be found and reports to be published.

 

______________________________________

" Am I still dead to you?" Frank Castle asks me on the twelfth week.

I look at him. He has got a scruffy beard. The apartment is dark, and the pale yellow street-lights make his bruises look a sickly orange.

I suddenly want to kiss him.

Instead, I pick up his empty dishes and go to the sink. He follows, intending to wash up.

" No, Frank. You are not."

For a second, he looks like he wants to say something impolite. Then he smiles.

"Thank you."


End file.
